The stories behind the buildings, statues and other points of interest that make Manhattan fascinating.

Monday, July 30, 2012

The Lost 1909 Cafe de l'Opera -- Broadway at 41st Street

Before the auction of the furniture of the Cafe de l'Opera Assyrian lions lined the 22-foot wide staircase. By the time the Cafe de Paris opened mere planters had to suffice.

In 1908 the old Saranac Hotel, built in 1874, sat at the
corner of Broadway and 41st Street, extending the full block to 7th
Avenue. That year architect and
interior designer Henry Erkins and restaurateur John Murray came up with an
idea. They would transform the hotel
into a showplace—an exotic Babylonian-inspired restaurant and night club like a
silent movie set.

Erkins had already designed Murray’s elaborate Roman
Gardens; but this project would go much farther. Along with other investors, the pair spent
millions of dollars to create the Café de l’Opera-- what would become the most
lavish and visually-staggering restaurant in New York City.

Erkins oversaw work by Stern Brothers Department Store,
which acted as general contractor, as the bills for interior decoration and
renovations mounted to a staggering $1.25 million—nearly $30 million today. Adding to the cost was the $250,000 worth of
silverware and artwork like the immense painting of “The Fall of Babylon” by
George Rochegrosse above the staircase. Rochegrosse’s painting, measuring 110 feet
wide and 65 feet high, had been shown at the Paris Salon and reportedly cost
$80,000.

By the time the restaurant was completed The New York Times
reported that “Approximately $4,000,000 has been invested in the ground and
building.”

All eight floors of the former hotel had been transformed
into the restaurant. A staff of 750 was
hired, including the manager of London’s Hotel Savoy, Henri Pruger, who was
lured with a $50,000 salary (the highest salary ever paid to a restaurant
manager to date). A month before opening
he told the New York Tribune “Two of the best chefs in Europe have already been
brought here by me to see that the culinary part of the restaurant begins
operations as it should.”

On December 14, 1909, the eve of the opening, a private
dinner was held for 150 invited guests.
A writer for the New York Tribune summed it up with a back-handed
compliment. “The Café de l’Opera is nearly
barbaric in its lavishness.”

18,000 electric lights turned “night into day,” according to
the New York Tribune. The writer for
The Times perhaps felt the lights were overkill, remarking that “Balustrades
and pergolas of black marble in the glare of brilliant lights, statues and
sculptures, winged bulls and other fantastic and artistic conceits contribute
to the general scheme.”

The thousands of electric lights created what The Times called a "glare."

The Tribune described the main floor as “in Assyrian style,
heavy gold and black marble being predominant.
A marble ‘palace of music’ on this floor is a feature.” The palace of music was said to be modeled
after a structure “of the time of Alexander the Great.” It
rose 50 feet and was entirely constructed of black marble. “The pedestal is formed of one large solid
block of marble, on which reclines an immense Assyrian lion,” said The
Times. “Bronze figures ornament the
steps, and from the temple runs pergolas to the balconies, which are supported
by Assyrian columns of black marble, the capitals being double griffins taken
from casts of originals.”

A 22-foot wide staircase rose to the second floor, modeled
after the great staircase of Persepolis.
It consisted of “broad but shallow steps, surmounting each other in
perfect alignment and without apparent support, lending a mystifying aspect,”
said The Times.

Along the staircase was a series of bronze Assyrian lions;
each one supporting a flickering flame. Along the balcony of the second floor eight
life-sized bronze statues stared down on the diners. From the third balcony hung what was reported
to be the largest silk rug in existence, hand-embroidered in Assyria.

To facilitate the movement of waiters between all eight
floors, escalators were installed—a highly forward-thinking innovation. Miles of pneumatic tubes connected all
sections of the restaurant. Electric
buttons at each table enable the guests to summon their steward or chef.

Perhaps an ominous sign of things to come, as the private
dinner was coming to a close an employee threw a cigarette butt onto a pile of
straw on the still-unfinished fourth floor.
The straw leapt into flames which, luckily, the restaurant staff
extinguished quickly, limiting damage.

The Times noted that “the few guests remaining occupied
themselves with looking at the unusual spectacle of firemen armed with axes and
poles, marching through the gorgeous rooms.”

It seemed that everything that Erkins and Murray planned for
the building was done to excess. To direct
the orchestra, which played from a balcony on the roof of the temple of music,
the former concertmeister to the Emperor Franz Joseph was hired. On the second floor an entire Japanese temple—the
Temple of Nikko—was constructed. In it
were an embroidered peacock screen that took 18 years to complete and cost
$8,000; a 10-foot bronze statue and a bronze “sacred” fountain.

﻿

Pruger's announcement of the opening of the "restaurant de luxe" included the caviat "Evening dress respectfully requested." It would prove to be a bad decision.

Describing the Café de l’Opera meant using
superlatives: the restaurant contained
the largest single carpet ever laid, the kitchen range was 60 feet wide, one
million sheets of gold leaf were used in the decorations, and on the Japanese level 10 miles of wisteria twined and 5,000 chrysanthemum blooms lined the
walls. There were 200,000 pieces of
silverware, 60,000 glasses, 250,000 pieces of linen and 100,000 pieces of
china.

Two weeks after the opening the restaurant dazzled New York
with its New Year’s Eve celebration. “An
aerial ballet, consisting of twenty women, descended from the dome of the
restaurant at midnight,” reported The New York Tribune the following day. Every table was booked and admission was by
ticket only.

A month later the Grill Room was opened, adorned
with mural paintings and an enormous panoramic scene of the Havana harbor.

To sustain its image as a high-class establishment, patrons
were required to wear evening clothes.
Even for Edwardian New York, the stringent dress code was too much. The lavish Babylonian surroundings were
apparently not worth the bother for most patrons and the restaurant
failed. And it failed quickly.

Less than six months after opening the grand bubble
burst. On July 28, 1910 The New York
Tribune reported on the auction of the furnishings. “Everything goes at the Café de l’Opera,”
said the auctioneer. The list of items
to be sold included linens, furniture, mirrors, silverware, china, glassware,
paintings, draperies, Oriental rugs, carpets and even plumbing and electrical
fixtures.

“Besides these,” said the newspaper, “more than fifty
refrigerators, some as large as a good sized house, are going under the
hammer. Marble slabs, chandeliers and
washstands are other things which may be had at the auction at a reasonable
figure.”

Two months later restaurateur, Louis Martin, announced he
would reopen the restaurant with substantial changes. He reported that he intended to move the
kitchens from the top floors to the basement, to ensure hot food arrived at the
tables, to install a 75-foot bar on the main floor, and to have
restaurant-owned taxicabs for the use of the patrons.

Very importantly, he intended to do away with the evening
dress rule. “My business,” he told
reporters, is to serve the public and not to dictate its clothes. That can safely be left to the people of New
York to solve independently of any interference.”

Martin commissioned architect Henry Pelton to renovate the
restaurant, reusing whatever interior elements had survived. “The
furnishings will be entirely of Circassian walnut, for which logs are now being
collected and matched,” said The New York Times. “Pictures to go behind the bar will cost
$50,000.”

The restaurant pened as Café Louis Martin in December 1909. Martin booked the dance sensations Irene and Vernon Castle as on-staff entertainment. Here they invented dance steps like the Castle Walk.

Despite everything, however, the restaurant
plodded along only until February 1913 when Martin withdrew from the business. The restaurant was taken over by the Times
Square Hotel Company, which renamed it the Café de Paris. But the restaurant’s reputation could not be
overcome.

With an ad in The Sun on January 3, 1914, the new management tried valiantly to distance itself from the former owner, to no avail. (copyright expired)

The Café de Paris was put into receivers’ hands in January
1914. The Sun reported that “The 1 o’clock
closing order and the idea persisting from its first opening that only those in
evening clothes were welcome are given as reasons for the failure.” The fact that wealthy patrons including
William K. Vanderbilt and H. C. Phipps had accumulated unpaid tabs that totaled
$31,101 did not help the restaurant’s financial stability, either.

On March 7, 1915 The New York Times announced that “Housewreckers
are tearing down the old Saranac Hotel, one of the landmarks of Times Square.”

In its place an 11-story office building was constructed, eradicating
memory of the short-lived but dazzling restaurant.